the eye of the darling said a clue
"sorrow upon stone",
the old bear told me, his
spine battered into moss
under bright whistles of stars
among the swimming fish
the warm black opens
like heat of voices within the bark
like rough bones poking out of the sun
long sick rays of music
suffocating the soldiers
like honey over a burn
like the enduring buzz of markets
stuffed with hats and shoulders
deep under the clouds with wilting skin
over jagged monasteries and goats with bells
chopping up our knowing chunk by
chunk"
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